


Cat's out of the Bag

by Bunnywest



Series: Bunny's Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Honest, How are you enyoying that river in Egypt Peter?, M/M, Peter has cats, Stiles isn't buying it for a second, but it's temporary, so many cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: “Kitties! Why do we have kitties?” Stiles asks.“Don’t get attached,” Peter warns him. “They’re only here because somebody put them in a dumpster, and I couldn’t stand listening to the racket they were making. We’re not keeping them. Once they’re old enough I’ll rehome them.”Stiles nods, busy playing with tiny toe beans and cooing.“This is temporary,” Peter stresses.





	Cat's out of the Bag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AteanaLenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AteanaLenn/gifts).



> Based on this Tumblr prompt:  
> oceanandspaceandfandom said: For the prompts, Steter & books or pets? Or a fic in which the Nogitsune isn't so bad and ends up mentoring Stiles pre-the series :) Have fun! ♥ 
> 
> I went with pets AND books, because.

When Stiles starts dating Peter, he can’t deny that part of the appeal is the underlying sense of menace that emanates off him. There’s an air of danger about Peter, like a cobra that’s coiled and ready to strike, and Stiles finds it desperately arousing. Peter notices of course, and proceeds to exploit it for all it’s worth.

It takes him two dates to get Stiles into his bed, tempting him there by pinning him against a wall and whispering, “So tell me, Stiles. Shall I be sweet and gentle, the first time I take you? Or would you prefer that I pin you to the mattress and make you beg, then fuck you till you can’t walk?”

Stiles folds like a pack of cards, moaning out, “That, do that.” Peter chuckles darkly, and and steers Stiles towards  his bedroom. It sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine when Peter nips at his collarbone and growls low in his throat as he pushes inside for the first time. Peter’s dangerous, the very definition of an apex predator,and Stiles loves it.

As they continue to date, as he gets to know Peter better and they slowly grow closer, the one thing Stiles feels he can say for certain is that Peter’s definitely not the type of man to let his guard down easily. So it’s a shock when four months into their relationship, Peter says offhandedly, “Don’t you think twenty one’s a little old to still be living at home? You should move in with me, and give your father some peace and quiet.”

Stiles looks at Peter in shock. “You want me to move in. With you, the tidiest person alive. Peter, you get cranky when I don’t put my coffee cup straight in the dishwasher. It would be a disaster.”

Peter raises a brow at him. “It’s true, you do leave a trail of destruction behind you. But I’d be prepared to adjust, especially if it meant I didn’t have to keep sneaking into your window at night. And it would mean you could make as much noise as you like when I drive into that sweet ass of yours.”

“You’re really selling it to me with the romance here,” Stiles deadpans.

Peter shrugs. “I’m just saying, the offer’s there. And if you move out, maybe your father and Chris Argent can stop dancing around each other and do something about it. Watching those two is painful.”

Stiles has to admit, Peter has a point. He tells Peter he’ll think about it. And he does, for a solid week and a half. Peter possibly stacks the deck in his favor by refusing to come over and visit him at night during that time, but in the end, Stiles moves in because he realizes that Peter, sarcastic, narcissistic, asshole that he is, is quite simply it for him.

 

* * *

 

About two weeks after Stiles moves in, he comes home to find Peter sitting on the couch. Nestled against his chest are two kittens, tiny little things with wide eyes. Peter’s rumbling deep in his chest, a soft, comforting noise that Stiles had been absolutely delighted to discover all werewolves can make, and the kittens are chirruping and purring right back. Stiles absolutely melts at the sight. “ _Kitties!_ Why do we have kitties?” he asks.

“Don’t get attached,” Peter warns him. “They’re only here because somebody put them in a dumpster, and I couldn’t stand listening to the racket they were making. We’re not keeping them. Once they’re old enough I’ll rehome them.” Stiles nods, busy playing with tiny toe beans and cooing.

“This is _temporary_ ,” Peter stresses. Stiles only half listens, distracted by the small soft grey kitten that’s trying to chew on it’s own tail. He glances over at Peter, and sees him bopping the nose of the other, pitch black kitten. He pretends he didn’t notice, and smiles to himself.

Peter tells him there are rules for the kittens. Stiles is absolutely not to name them, because he’ll only get find it harder to give them up, and they’ll have to stay confined to the laundry room, because Peter refuses to have his house smelling of _cat_.

They do try  and deposit the kittens in the laundry, but it’s a complete failure. They cry and mewl, desperate for warmth and contact, and after twenty minutes, and with much groaning and eyerolling, Peter relents and lets them out. They clamber excitedly up his legs, tiny claws hooking in the denim, and when they’ve made it as far as his knees he gives an exasperated huff and scoops them up.  “Fine, but they stay downstairs, and _under no circumstances_ do they come in the bedroom,” he grumbles.

“Let me guess, you’re the only wild animal allowed in there?” Stiles asks with a grin.

Peter puts the kittens down, and stalks over to where Stiles is standing. “Absolutely,” he purrs, before picking Stiles up in a bridal carry and taking him upstairs, where he fucks him hard and fast, and Stiles moans and screams as much as he likes.

 

* * *

The rehoming keeps getting mysteriously delayed. First, Peter says the kittens are too young. Then he insists that they’re looking a little frail and need to be healthier before they go to new homes, despite the vet giving them a clean bill of health when Peter takes them for their shots. And of course, taking them to the vet means they need a name for the paperwork. Stiles names the black kitten Chairman Meow. Peter names the grey one Comet, based on the kitten’s habit of flying across the room at speed. Stiles is surprised that the cats don’t react badly to Peter’s wolf, and he asks about it. Peter fixes him with a Look, and says, “Obviously, they know when they’re in the presence of a superior being, and they cede to me.” And the thing is, he’s right. The cats adore him, and follow him around like a couple of tiny devoted body guards.

Cat toys start to mysteriously appear. When Stiles holds up the tiny jingling ball and gives Peter a questioning look, Peter says it’s so they’ll stop tangling his shoelaces when they play with them. Stiles doesn’t buy it for a second, and just smirks knowingly when the scratching posts appear.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles isn’t even sure why he’s surprised when he comes home a month later to find Peter up to his elbows in soapy water, wrestling with a massive, battered looking cat as he bathes it in the laundry sink. “Do I even want to know?” he asks, watching amused as Peter uses his strength to get the better of the beast, the scratch marks on his arms healing as fast as they appear.

“Realtor friend dropped him off. He was left behind in a vacant property. He was going to be put down, so I said I’d find him a home. But he’s riddled with fleas, and I don’t want him to pass them on to the boys. Towel, now,” Peter demands. Stiles hands him the towel and Peter expertly wraps the cat in it, effectively immobilising him, ignoring the terrible caterwauling noise he’s making.  He tucks the cat in the crook of his arm and holds him securely, a look of triumph on his face. “The flea shampoo should do the trick, the vet recommended it when I took him for his shots. He’s healthy enough otherwise, we just have to find him a new home.”

Stiles eyes the cat doubtfully. “He’s pretty ugly,” he ventures. “And he looks old. He might be hard to rehome.”

Peter shoots him a dirty look. “Winston has life experience, that’s all.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What ever happened to   _we’re not naming them, they’re only temporary?_ ”

Peter starts to dry the cat quickly and efficiently, and refuses to catch Stiles’ eye when he says, “Well you can hardly blame me if it’s impossible to find decent homes.”

Technically, it’s true that Peter’s offered to give the cats away to good homes. But no home is good _enough_ , it seems. Because of course, Peter has incredibly high standards for giving away his babies. He rejected one woman because she wore too much perfume. “She’s given to excess. She’ll overfeed them,” was his explanation.

Stiles watches as Peter gently places the cat on the ground, scritching it behind the ears, and he knows they’ll be keeping this one too. He really doesn’t mind, he just wonders if Peter actually thinks he’s fooling anyone. He gets distracted though, because Peter’s shirt is soaked through, and the fabric clings to him enticingly, outlining his muscled pecs. “If you’ve finished playing vet, maybe we could go upstairs, and I could get you out of those wet things?” Stiles suggests, a gleam in his eye.

Peter grins sharply. “And what then, Stiles?”

Stiles leans in close, and murmurs, “I thought maybe you could bend me over the side of the bed, and mount me like I’m your bitch.” Peter drags Stiles out of the laundry by his shirt front, kissing him passionately as they stumble up the stairs. He takes a moment to evict Comet from his place on the bed, and closes the door firmly to prevent any further feline invasions. They don’t hear it when the cats start to hiss and yowl at each other downstairs – they’re far too distracted. By the time they emerge several hours later (god, Stiles loves Peter’s stamina), the three cats have established a pecking order, and are all comfortably curled up on the furniture.

 

* * *

 

 

Tilly comes next – she’s a gorgeous ragdoll, and Peter explains that when he took Winston to the vet because he had a sniffle there was a lady who was having Tilly put down because her child was allergic. Peter had resisted his initial urge to suggest she get rid of the child instead, and offered to take Tilly and rehome her. She’d leapt at the offer, and Peter had come home with an extra cat. “It’s not permanent,” he insists. Stiles just rolls his eyes as he watches Peter idly swishing the long feathered cat toy for his newest acquisition to chase.

 

* * *

 

 Peter blames the acquisition of Princess on the fact that he was in a hurry. He just wanted to get in and out of the pet store, he explains. “But there was a truly obnoxious child, whining and complaining that he wanted her, creating a scene. The mother clearly has no parenting skills.”

Stiles folds his arms across his chest. “And that led to you taking her home because…?” he prompts.

Peter looks distinctly satisfied as he says, “I could see that the woman didn’t want the cat, but she would have taken it to keep her spawn happy. And what then? Get rid of her in a month? I couldn’t allow that, so I bought her out from under them.”

Stiles stares at him, openmouthed. “You’re telling me you bought a cat to spite a child?”

Peter smirks. “Absolutely not. But I won’t deny, it was fun watching him pitch a fit. Wasn’t it Princess?” he coos at the Russian blue as he strokes her expertly.

“You’re unbelievable. Let me guess, it’s just until we can find her a deserving home?”

“Of course,” Peter says, as he carries his latest charge over to the feeding station that he's set up, careful not to trip over Winston, who’s laying sprawled in the doorway.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles casts a nervous glance at his back seat as he parks the car. There aren’t that many books. It’s only one bag, and if he carries it in with the groceries, he figures he can probably sneak it past Peter. He knows that he promised Peter there would be no more rescue books, but these just looked so neglected, and the woman running the yard sale was going to _throw them away_ if he didn’t take them. Just the thought of it gives him the chills.

Stiles has a…problem, with books. If there’s any chance they’ll be discarded or destroyed, he ends up taking them home. It hurts his very soul to think of a single volume being trashed. But it’s gotten out of control. One of their spare rooms is basically a book depository now, with stacks of volumes that make Peter sigh heavily every time he sees them. One day a few weeks ago there had been a small….well, Stiles feels the term _avalanche_ is just Peter being dramatic, but anyway. The point is, one of Peter’s cats had nearly been caught under the resulting heap, and Peter had put his foot down. “No more books unless you get rid of some of the ones you already have,” he’d declared, and his tone was firm. 

Stiles had pouted, and said “Well in that case, the same goes for you. No more cats. If I can’t rescue strays, neither can you.”

He’d expected Peter to argue, but he’d shrugged, and said, “Fine. Unlike you, I have no intention of keeping these cats. Once I find them good homes, they’re gone.” Stiles possibly would have taken him a little more seriously if Peter hadn’t had Winston  draped across his chest at the time, but he’d wisely chosen not to point that out.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles slips the  bag of books between his groceries and walks into the house, only to be greeted, once again, by the sight of Peter cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in an old towel on his lap. He drops his bags and points accusingly. “You said no more!”

Peter’s eyes flick over the shopping and Stiles can see the second that he spots the battered copy of _Wind in the Willows._ “So did you, sweetheart, yet I see more books.” He pets the fluffy bundle that he’s holding and adds “Besides, I said no more cats, and I’m a man of my word.” He turns the towel round to reveal a tiny, twitching nose, and a pair of long ears.

“Peter, is that a fucking _rabbit?_ ” Stiles asks incredulously.

“It certainly is, darling. And definitely _not_ a cat. Therefore, I haven’t broken my part of our agreement.” Peter lifts the rabbit close to his face and rubs noses with the tiny creature.

Stiles just stares for a moment, before letting out a sigh. “You really suck as an apex predator, you know that, right?”

Peter looks up, one eyebrow arched. “Oh, really?” he says quietly. He takes the rabbit and places it gently in a small cage, closing the door and latching it firmly. He stands to his full height, and there’s a gleam in his eye. ”Stiles?”

“Uh huh?” Stiles is distracted by Comet wrapping himself around his legs, and he misses the way Peter’s looking at him. Peter walks towards him slowly, deliberately. _Prowling._

“ _Stiles_ ,” he repeats, and something in his tone catches Stiles’ attention. As soon as Stiles looks up at him, Peter’s expression turns predatory. “ _Run_.”

Stiles’ face splits into a grin, and he bolts across the room, knowing he doesn’t have a hope in hell of getting away, and loving the fact. He makes it out the back door and halfway across the yard before Peter grabs him around the waist, swinging him over his shoulder and carrying him upstairs to their bedroom, slicing his shirt off with his claws as he goes, growling, “I’ll show you _sucks as an_ _apex predator_.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles lies there, fucked out and relaxed, Peter’s teeth marks still fresh on his shoulder, and sighs happily. Peter rolls to face him. “So, tell me again how I’m not a predator, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. “You’ve still got it, when it matters,” he concedes.  He nudges at Peter, asking, “So, when are you going to admit we’re keeping the cats?”

Peter looks sheepish. “I thought we could build them an outdoor enclosure. I’ve had the plans drawn up,” he admits.

Stiles laughs at him for five solid minutes, and Peter endures it good naturedly. Then he gets out of bed and opens the bedroom door, because the cats want in, and god forbid they should be kept waiting.


End file.
